Waiting for a train
by ograndebatata
Summary: Yes, this is another attempt at writing a fanfic about Rebecca Ann's "The Writer and the Actress". This time, it's about Jack's sister, Rachel. I hope you enjoy it.


_Hello, my dear readers. How are you all? I hope you're alright... but in case you're not, well... you have my deepest sympathies. That's all I can say. Well, as you may have read from the plot summary, this particular story is another attempt at writing a fanfic about Rebecca Ann's "The Writer and the Actress". However, this time I'm making the attempt with another, much more complex character: Jack's younger sister, Rachel._

_Rachel is probably Rebecca Ann's more complex original character - to really have an idea of what I mean, you better read "The Writer and the Actress"... and well, although I truly doubt I'm up to the task of writing about her, I decided to give it a try. I included an original character to make the story more fluid, I hope I'm not spoiling the story too much by that._

_In terms of disclaimers, I don't own King Kong, but I fully have Rebecca Ann's permission to write this story. She knew this story was written, she only hasn't read it, at least just yet. Ask her if you don't believe me._

_Well... this was a fairly long note... but this is already usual for me, I guess. Now, let's begin the story._

* * *

_Hartford, December 21__st__, 1932_

The cold winter air settled on the train station, and the snow covered it with a thin white carpet, making it quite the undesirable place to be for most people. A chilly wind swept across, as if it was trying to increase the strain it caused on those who were waiting for trains, or the station workers who tried to help troubled passengers.

Rachel Kaufmann stood against the train station wall, with a cigarette held between her fingers. Although her fingers were barely moving, the cigarette was constantly shaken up and down, which made the tip of the cigarette to be devoid of ash almost constantly.

Night had fallen a long time ago, as always in this time of the year, but she was in no mood to go to sleep. Not until her brother Jack arrived, and the two went together to their parents' house, where Jack's birthday party would be made tomorrow. It was always the same, every year after the other. Rachel would come back after one of her tours taking pictures in some remote place – this time, her choice had been Norway – and she would wait here at Hartford for her big brother Jack Driscoll to pick her up. Then the two would head together to their parents' house in Willimantic, where they would celebrate Jack's birthday with their family, and a few days later, Christmas. And as always, before Jack picked her up, she had to wait for Jack's arrival. Although they always combined at which time they would meet at the station, Jack usually – alright, _always_ – got late. So far, Jack's earliest arrival had been forty minutes after the time they combined. The latest one had been two hours after the time they combined.

Rachel took a drag off the cigarette she held. No matter how seasoned she got at waiting for her brother, she couldn't get used to it. She had never been the kind who could just stand around and wait for something. If she was, she probably wouldn't be here, having finished another of her works as a freelance photographer, with a camera bag between her feet stuffed with rolls of film she was dying to develop, and a suitcase with essential possessions leaning against her right leg.

Rachel's thoughts turned away from Jack for a moment, focusing on another member of her family. Her mother still disapproved of Rachel's work so much that she barely acknowledged her daughter. But it was mother who had to understand – photography was a part of who Rachel was, just as smoking, drinking, cursing, and a taste for fast cars, guns, and travelling.

"All things a fine lady should never involve herself in." Rachel muttered out loud one of the most common sentences of her mother's long lectures. "Well, it just happens my vision of a 'fine lady' is different from hers, and if she can't understand or respect that, then full stop, paragraph, change business! Life is too short just to be spent pleasing every person who thinks we should be different – and mainly to be spent cleaning around and cooking for a man like if I was his slave!"

A few passersby – a man with a woman who was likely his wife and three children trailing behind him – threw Rachel a look she knew far too well before they sped up to get far from her as quickly as possible. Rachel didn't know if it was because she had muttered loud enough for them to hear or if it was because of her untypical attire – boots and trousers, the only unusual things her overcoat revealed. And she didn't give a damn about it.

For a moment, Rachel was about to give them an annoyed look, but her eyes caught another train entering the station. Rachel pinned her gaze on it. Hopefully this would be the one with her brother, although Rachel didn't actually know which way the New York train came from, or even in which platform it would be. Though she had been here many times, she had never cared to know such a detail. As long as Jack came to her healthy – because him getting on time would be setting her hopes to an impossibility – that was all that mattered.

Her eyes again darted from one side of the station to the other, but she couldn't help but to feel the rest of her body starting to grow numb. It was irrefutably because of the cold – even someone as full of energy as Rachel got somewhat torpid if waiting immobile on a train station for long.

"I wouldn't be waiting here for long if my imbecilic big brother hadn't got late – again!" Rachel muttered.

In her frustration, she took another large drag off her cigarette, trying to calm down through it, and burning what remained of it. Noticing that the excessively long drag had reduced her cigarette to a stub, Rachel threw it down and stomped on it as if the stub had offended her personally. Jack was her big brother alright, and she loved him dearly, but why did his delays have to be such a ritual as him picking her up from the train station?

Her numbness decreased slightly by the furious movements, Rachel again searched with her look through the newly-arrived crowd. Again, no Jack Driscoll there.

Rachel dug her hand into her overcoat's pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. Jack was an hour and a quarter late. It wasn't his record, but still, it was far more than she wanted to wait.

Flipping the laid shut and sliding the watch back into its resting place, Rachel looked around for a bench. If she had to wait much longer, perhaps it was better to sit down for a bit. Although she didn't like being still, she sure was knackered from her rushed trip to Connecticut. Her trips to Connecticut after a tour to an exotic place were always rushed, as she wanted to spend as much time photographing as possible. And, even counting the hurried nature of her journeys, Rachel had never been the one late.

Rachel picked up her bag and her suitcase, and moved over to the nearest bench.

A man wearing a brown overcoat and a matching fedora sat there, a large suitcase at his side, and a book held in his hands. Rachel had the brief impression that he, just like Jack, was of the intellectual kind, although he didn't seem to be wearing tweed. The man appeared slightly overweight – although it was hard to tell beyond the thick overcoat – there would still be enough room in the bench for the two of them and their luggage, should he move over a bit.

"Hey, man, could you move over a bit?" Rachel said to the man.

The man almost seemed to wake up, as he jumped slightly in the bench. Apparently, he was too absorbed in the book he was reading. But, when he looked at her, his eyes again widened, as he took in the unusual appearance of the woman in front of him. Rachel had seen such looks many times. Far too many times to have enough patience to deal with one properly from every time she saw it.

"Well then, will you move over or not?" Rachel insisted.

The man again seemed startled, but, after a few seconds, during which he appeared to steady himself, he said in a foreign accent. "Of course, Mrs…"

"Rachel Kaufmann." she replied impatiently. "And it's Miss, not Mrs."

"Yes, of course, my mistake. Miss Kaufmann." The man corrected himself. He took his hand to his fedora, and lifted it briefly. "Ernesto Silva."

Then, he closed his book, marking the page with one finger, grabbed his suitcase, moved it to one of the edges of the bench, and then slid aside a little bit. Now with room to spare, Rachel placed her bag and suitcase at the other end of the bench, and then sat at Silva's side. He looked at her briefly for a few moments, but then he got his attention back to his book.

Well, that was somewhat of a surprise, Rachel had to admit. Usually, whenever she said someone she wanted to share a bench, the person either tried to fill up enough space for not to leave any to Rachel, or left immediately, giving her all the space available.

But Rachel didn't pay that anymore mind, and instead took her hand to her pocket, extracting her jeweled cigarette cage, taking a cigarette out, and putting it to her lips. Then, she tried to look for the lighter, so she could ignite the tobacco. Much to her surprise, her hand didn't meet it.

Without patience to look for it thoroughly, she turned to Silva instead.

"Do you have a light?" she asked him.

Silva's look again became startled, but he didn't back off. Instead, as soon as he recovered, he said in a stern tone, "No, I don't have any. And if you don't have it also, better for you."

This time, it was Rachel who got surprised. "What does that mean?"

"If you spend some time without smoking, it will only do you good. Smoking is bad for your lungs." Silva clarified. "If I were you, I'd stop smoking before I…"

"Shut up!" Rachel scowled. "I had enough of those lectures from my mother. Now that they stopped, I don't need a stranger adding his to the list!"

Silva shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself, Miss Kaufmann. I was just giving you an advice."

Rachel stopped her second search through her pockets. "If you like advices, then I'll give you one, Silva. People don't listen to unasked advices, so don't give advices unless they asked for it."

Silva's look was undoubtedly impressed. "Good point, Miss Kaufmann."

Then, without another word, Silva turned his eyes back to his book, and seemed to forget about Rachel's existence. Rachel saw the book's title on the cover, '_A Ilustre Casa de Ramirez_'. With such a title, the book should have been bought in the man's country of origin, whatever it was. But she wasn't interested in knowing more. Now, her major interest now was to find her own lighter, as Silva wouldn't lend her one – right after knowing when her shnozed, tweed-clad brother would arrive, of course.

Rachel finished her second – and more thorough – search through one of her pockets. Not having found her lighter yet, she grumbled in frustration and turned to her other pocket, trying to see if it was there. But as she turned her head, her eyes caught Silva's movements.

The man had just taken something out of his overcoat. A closer look allowed Rachel to recognize the object as a package of cigarettes. So Silva had cigarettes! But if he had cigarettes, then he was bound to have a lighter, or at least a box of matches. How dare Silva, not lending Rachel a light, come up with some lecture as if he was her father or big brother, and then just blatantly smoke in front of her!

_He'll see…_ Rachel though, refraining from muttering just this time, so as not to alert him. _As soon as he gets a light out, I'll snatch it out of his hands and use it on my cigarette. And then, just to teach Silva not to be a rude liar, I'll punch his eye._

But, much to her surprise, when the man extracted a cigarette wrapped in what seemed brown paper, he merely put it on his lips, and started sucking the edge of the cigarette in his mouth, pushing the package back into his pocket with his other hand, and then picking up his book and resuming his reading.

The sight was simultaneously so ridiculous and baffling that Rachel blurted out without thinking, "Excuse me?"

Silva peeked over his book. "Yes?" he hissed with the cigarette held on his lips.

"How do you plan on smoking a cigarette without lighting it?"

"And who told you I intend to smoke it?"

Rachel's eyes widened, and she took her hand to her nape, scratching it for a moment. Her father sometimes did that when he was confused and surprised at the same time, and although it was uncommon for Rachel to reach such a state, she had the same habit.

"What else can you do with cigarettes other than smoking them?" she managed.

"This kind of cigarettes is meant to be sucked, not smoked." Silva explained.

"And what is that kind exactly?" Rachel demanded.

"Chocolate cigarettes."

Rachel did everything she could to keep her jaw from dropping. The information had been so much of a surprise she didn't even know how to react. Sure, she knew such things existed, but she had never wanted to taste them. True, she ate chocolate – while it wasn't any kind of divine nectar, it was edible – but she'd never consider sucking a tube of chocolate as if she was smoking a cigarette.

And now that she looked better, that did look like a chocolate cigarette. But in the dim artificial light of the train station, it was fairly easy to mistake it for a normal cigarette wrapped in darker paper. After cursing herself for her stupidity, Rachel grumbled loudly at Silva and started searching through the other pocket of her overcoat, trying to make it both as thorough and as feverish as possible.

"Finally." Rachel announced when she at last managed to locate the lighter.

Silva looked over his book for a moment, the chocolate cigarette somewhat shorter.

"You don't need to let the whole station to know you found your lighter." he said through the candy in his teeth.

Rachel ignored him, and lit her cigarette, taking a drag off of it, before, again, looking around the station for Jack. Again, he was seen nowhere – probably because no train had arrived since that last one.

Just when would Jack arrive?

"You seem anxious." Silva remarked from behind his book. "Is your train very late, Miss Kaufmann?"

Rachel pinned her eyes on Silva. She was finding somewhat irritating that the man wouldn't just shut up and read his book. Her only intentions were sharing a bench, not talking. But if she carried on with the topic, and then found some way to end it, perhaps Silva would leave her alone.

"Well, if you want to know that much, I'm not exactly waiting for any train, at least not directly. I'm more waiting for my brother to pick me up. And he's…." Rachel again fished her pocket watch from her overcoat's pocket and opened the lid "…an hour and a half late."

"I guess we're both of luck in that point. My train should have been here…" Silva looked for his own pocket watch and opened it. "…three hours ago."

Rachel nodded without saying a word, puffing on her cigarette again to keep quiet. If she opened her mouth, probably she'd voice the fact that she was quite impressed by the fact Silva managed to be so calm after three hours of waiting. If Rachel ever had to wait so much time for Jack – well, she knew for sure that forgiveness would be quite a hard thing for him to gain.

Silva slid his watch back into his pocket.

"I'm getting tired of waiting, I admit, but you don't see me looking around everywhere from second to second, Miss Kaufmann. You should learn how to wait."

"Waiting is for city people." Rachel stated. "And I'm not a city person. The only thing I have patience to wait for is an opportunity for a good shot."

"What kind of shots?"

Rachel motioned toward her camera bag. "Photographic."

"Oh…" was all that came out from Silva's mouth.

Rachel kept her gaze on the man, waiting to see if he would say any more.

"And what sort of things do you photograph?" he kept.

Rachel sighed tiredly. One of the things she had never had a lot of patience to had been small talk, at least with strangers. She could cope with moderate amounts of small talk from people she got along with fine. But so far, Silva wasn't belonging to that group.

"Don't you have that book to keep yourself busy with?" she snapped.

Silva put his book inside his suitcase. "I do, but I've already read it once recently, and I guess I'm not that willing to do it again so soon. I guess talking would be better to pass time – but if you want me to shut up, I will."

For a moment, Rachel was about to slap Silva, for making such advances on her. But she realized the man could just have said what had come to his mind, and state that conversations were better to pass time than reading. Silva didn't seem the kind who could state second intentions – perhaps she could give him a chance. After all, although he had annoyed her, it didn't seem he had done it intentionally. And he had a point. A conversation – even if made only of small talk – was a better way of passing time than looking from one side of the station to the other, or even reading. As long as the man didn't get into any matter she didn't want to talk about, she could just as well play his game. And it wasn't as if she had ever been the kind of woman a man would want to make advances on. Besides, perhaps talking with Silva would give her the opportunity to start an argument with him. After photography and travelling, a good argument was one of Rachel's favorite hobbies.

She took another drag off her cigarette, and finally said, "Fair enough. I photograph everything I find interesting on whatever country I visit."

Silva seemed genuinely interested now. "And what countries did you visit?"

"A good deal, and of a good variety."

If this conversation was meant to be a way of burning up time, Rachel did not want to run out of fuel too soon.

"Have you ever visited Portugal?"

"Can't say that." Rachel admitted. "But why do you ask it? Is Portugal your home country?"

_If it is, that's funny. _Rachel mused. _I thought his accent was Russian._ _I always assumed the Portuguese accent would sound more Spanish, but it doesn't sound like what I heard when I visited Seville._

Rachel thought the man would either answer negatively or get a nostalgic look on his face as he remembered his old home, but, much to her surprise, his face was darkened by a look that was both angry and bitter. Silva took his chocolate cigarette out of his mouth, apparently to make sure he spoke without hindrances.

"Portugal was my home country." Silva said in a tone that hinted clearly it wasn't much of a matter he liked to talk about. "But now it isn't."

Then, he exchanged to Portuguese, and said "_Mas ainda podia ser, se aquela estúpida não tivesse tido a ideia de se meter em política!_"

Rachel puffed on her cigarette again. Although she understood nothing of what Silva said, she knew from his tone that he was angry at someone, and it was likely at the one who caused him to be here.

Silva collected himself as soon as his ranting finished.

"My apologies, Miss Kaufmann." he said. "I know I shouldn't exchange to Portuguese, but when I swear, I usually shift to my mother tongue."

"At will, Silva. I wouldn't mind your swearing even if I understood it. In fact, I think I could make you green with _my own_ swearing."

Rachel had said that to see if she could actually impress the Portuguese, but Silva just put the chocolate cigarette back in his mouth and started sucking it again, but now with a fierceness to his slurps, as if he was venting his frustrations on the piece of candy.

Seeing her attempt to start an argument had failed, Rachel puffed on her cigarette, and again turned to small talk. "But what's your problem? Don't you like America?"

In spite of most of the countries she had visited being fine places to be, Rachel still thought America was the best – but that was expected, because it was her home. However, many foreign people seemed to hold America in high consideration, and so it was a slight surprise when she met someone escaping the rule.

Seemingly without more patience to suck, Silva just slurped what was left of the chocolate cigarette into his mouth, chewed down, and then swallowed. The angry look was still on his face, but after Silva took some deep breaths, it became less pronounced.

"Don't get me wrong. America is not that bad. I just wish I hadn't been thrown into it in the deepest end!" he snapped.

Now the man had got enough of Rachel's curiosity so she wanted to know the rest. "What on Earth do you mean?"

Silva took several deep breaths. The air he exhaled, turned to mist by the low temperature, looked almost like fire breathed by a dragon. A voice in the back of Rachel's head was urging her to coax Silva into telling more, but this time she decided to wait.

Finally, after a particularly intense sigh, Silva started speaking.

"Well, let's just say that one day, my sister had the brilliant idea of showing her opinion about our country's new regime – and by extension, about António Salazar, our new ruler. Now, Salazar's philosophy is this one: if you don't think like him, you either keep it to yourself or you're in for a world of suffering. In the best of chances, you wear black and blue for a whole year. In the worst…" Silva actually shuddered at the thought. "… well, I'd better not even think about it."

When he finished, his look became more serious, and he said in a warning tone, "If you ever go to Portugal, Miss Kaufmann, be very careful with what you say, at least regarding the government."

Silva again took off his fedora, and shook it in front of his face as if he was trying to use it to push air into his mouth. It gave the impression that just the topic of conversation sickened him.

"Well then, what happened next?" Rachel demanded.

It was rather hard to pick her attention about anything, but whenever her attention was captured about any kind of matter, she wanted to hear everything to the end.

Silva put his fedora back on his head. "She got in quite a lot of trouble for expressing her opinions. Enough so that she was forced to pack up her possessions and get away. America was the location she chose, and she decided to drag all her family along, me included in the lot. True, we didn't have much of a choice, with my sister managing to anger Salazar, but even so…"

Instead of finishing his sentence, Silva extracted a chocolate cigarette, but this time, instead of sucking it slowly, he put it all in his mouth and chewed violently, until he had reduced everything to a pulp. Rachel understood his anger now. In fact, she even felt some sort of sympathy toward Silva. Rachel loved to travel, and there were times when she wanted someone – namely, her brother Jack – to come along for the trip, but she'd never force a journey on him willingly. And fleeing a country in group should be much harder than travel freely.

Silva swallowed the piece of candy.

"Was it truly necessary for your sister to bring all of her family along?" Rachel inquired. "I mean, I know she got into trouble, but it was her trouble. Why did she drag you along with it?"

"For two reasons." Silva said. "One, she was afraid that if her family stayed in Portugal, they'd blab her location to the government. Two, if I and the rest of her family stayed there, there was the possibility we'd suffer the consequences instead of her."

Rachel blinked twice. She had heard something about Portugal having a new ruler, but she knew no details about it. She wanted to know, though. After again puffing on her cigarette, she asked, "Is Salazar really that bad?"

"I don't know." Silva admitted. "I admit that our behavior and fear of him could have been exaggerated. But my sister said it was better to play safe… and well, at least we all got here, and we're all healthy."

Silva lifted his arms and let them fall again, his hands hitting his thighs.

"_Mesmo assim, pergunto-me porque é que continuo a ir a Nova Iorque aos jantares de Natal que ela organiza._" he grumbled. "_Nova Iorque põe-me doente, e tudo o que ela faz quando eu lá estou é criticar o meu peso extra e dar-me um responso por não estar casado aos trinta anos. Já quando vou às festas de anos dela ou das crianças é o mesmo! Nem sei porque é que continuo a ir lá. Se não fosse pelas crianças, provavelmente nem ia._"

Rachel understood none of his words, but his tone told her that he was ranting, and perhaps criticizing his sister. She used the time of his shouting to take a drag of her cigarette and looking around the station, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jack. Failing to find it, she returned her look to Silva.

Precisely at that moment, he seemed to have again noticed Rachel's presence.

"Once again, my apologies, Miss Kaufmann." he said. "I know I shouldn't have switched to Portuguese in your presence, but I couldn't help it."

Rachel merely nodded, wondering why he insisted on apologizing. She already had told him she certainly wouldn't be fazed by what he had said, and anyway, she thought everyone had right to their privacies when swearing. She assumed Silva was just trying to be polite.

"In short, I was wondering why I still go to my sister's Christmas Family Gatherings and the other events she organizes after she forced me to come along for her escape in such short notice, and everything she does when I'm there is criticize me and lecture me."

Rachel didn't say or do anything. She couldn't answer Silva's dilemma, as she wasn't much of a philosopher. But when it came to her, she went to Jack's birthday parties because she loved her brother. In fact, everything she did in regards to her family was because of Jack, and at times because of her nephews, Charles and David. The others had all disowned her, just because she turned down getting married in favor of what she truly wanted to do in her life.

But she always had Jack and her nephews. Even her brothers-in-law got along with her better than her sisters. If Silva either never had a relative that got along with him well, or had somehow lost all of that kind, it should be rough. And a good reason to wonder why he actually kept in contact with his family.

"Don't feel too bad about that." Rachel said, for once giving two cents of sympathy to a total stranger. "You seem a decent enough guy to me. Your sister just seems very demanding."

She puffed again on her cigarette, and said, more to herself than to Silva, "Then again, families aren't perfect."

Silva grunted. "That's right, Miss Kaufmann."

He gave another heavy sigh. "But after all, she's my sister. And since my parents and grandparents died, she's the closest family I have."

Silva lowered his face, which was screwed up in pain as he undoubtedly recalled unpleasant memories. Rachel just kept quiet. Almost to her surprise, she felt a bit sorry for Silva. But she knew that if she was in Silva's shoes, she wouldn't go to a Christmas Family Gathering – or any other kind of family gathering – just because it was being organized by her sister. After all, she didn't get married just because her mother had wanted her to do so, and a mother was the closest family any person had.

And speaking of family…

"JACK!" Rachel exploded.

She finally located her brother coming out of a train that had arrived while she wasn't looking. Miracle of miracles, it had even stopped in the same platform she and Silva were at.

Silva jumped in his seat. And Jack jumped when he heard her voice. But, as soon as he saw her, the same crooked grin from always came into his face. One that seemed to shout both "I'm so happy to see you, Rachel." and "I'm so sorry for being late!"

Jack walked toward her, a suitcase in his hand. From what she could see, this time he hadn't decided to bring his typewriter along, which meant no flash of inspiration for a new play had come yet.

Silva got up, and stood at her side, somewhat shorter than she was, Rachel couldn't help to notice. "Is that one your brother, Miss Kaufmann?"

"That's right. That combination of tweed suit, felt fedora, and huge nose is unmistakable."

Silva seemed slightly confused, but Rachel didn't give a damn about him now. She dug her hand into her overcoat's pocket and brought out her pocket watch. When she saw how late Jack was, she threw what was left of her cigarette down, and crushed it fiercely under her foot, before glaring at her brother.

"Hello, Rach…" Jack started, but was cut off by Rachel's brisk tone.

"An hour and forty five minutes late, Jack Driscoll." She stood with her free hand on her hip, tapping the floor with her foot.

Inside, she was surprised at the fact that somehow, a quarter of hour had passed without Rachel becoming so impatient – apparently, talking to Silva had burned up time effectively. But she had to look angry. In fact, she had to be angry. She couldn't lose her touch at being stern, or she would become soft. And becoming soft was one of Rachel's greatest fears.

"An hour and forty five minutes late, Jack Driscoll." she repeated. "Where have you been? What have you been doing? What do you have to say in your defense?"

"Are you his sister, or are you some sort of judge, to be trialing your brother like that?" Silva was here.

Rachel gasped. She had almost forgotten Silva was here. And just then, something between horror and embarrassment struck her. Horror that Jack could think she was mellowing (which was the purest lie), and embarrassment at being caught in the company of a strange man. That had never happened before.

Sure enough, Jack seemed awed at seeing her in the company of a man. In fact, it seemed like he had just noticed Silva's presence. But, instead of turning on an overprotective mode, he just tried to use the fact as his way of being spared from a lecture.

"You didn't tell me you had a friend coming with you, Rachel." Jack remarked.

"I'm not her friend." Silva said. "We met about fifteen minutes ago."

"That's right." Rachel tried to defend herself. "He's not my friend!"

Silva gave her a peculiar look, which, surprisingly, made Rachel feel some need to correct herself. "Fair enough, he's nice, but we barely met, and I don't have a particular intention of knowing him better."

Seeing the grin that was just starting to blossom on Jack's face, Rachel threatened, "Jack, if you finish making that grin, it will be the last one you make, because I'll shatter it!"

"Miss Kaufmann!" scolded Silva. "He's your brother!"

"Oh, it's alright." Jack said. "I get threats of the kind twice a day whenever I'm around Rachel."

Either way, Jack dissolved the look he had started to form, and instead turned to Silva. The Portuguese extended his hand.

"Ernesto Silva, nice to meet you."

"Jack Driscoll." her brother said, shaking Silva's hand.

Their soon separated, but Silva seemed confused.

"Driscoll? Your sister said her name was Rachel Kaufmann. If you're her brother, how…"

"Jack Driscoll is the name my brother is mostly known as, from the plays he writes." Rachel cut in.

She wasn't in much of a mood to hear long talks, and Silva, even if unintentionally, was contributing to delay her brother's explanation, and the lecture she had to give him about leaving her waiting in a cold station.

Silva seemed slightly confused, but eventually, recognition dawned on his expression.

"I see." he said. "My sister was reading a play – _Ambition_, I guess – by a Jack Driscoll when I last visited her."

"Then it should be mine." Jack said.

"Yes, my brother is quite the famous kind of playwright." Rachel piped in. "But his fame doesn't make him to arrive at the right time, not even knowing that his dearest sister knackered herself to be here on time for his birthday party tomorrow!"

This speech had been a lectured directed at Jack, although she hadn't been looking at her brother when speaking, and in fact had been done more as a mean to let her frustration out.

"So your birthday's tomorrow, Mr. Driscoll?" Silva asked.

"That's right."

"Well, then you'll have a lot of reasons to celebrate at once." Silva said.

At that sentence Silva's shoulders sagged, and his look became noticeably sad. It seemed like he was feeling both sad and jealous of not having so many things to celebrate at once. In fact, going to a Christmas dinner with a sister who was as Silva had described, Rachel wasn't sure if he had anything to celebrate at all.

"Everything alright?" Jack asked, apparently also having noticed Silva's mood.

Silva composed himself.

"Of course, perfectly. Except for the fact that my train still hasn't arrived, of course."

As if on cue, the voice of a station assistant amplified by a speaking trumpet echoed through the area.

"Attention to everyone, the train to New York City will soon stop at platform five! I repeat, the train to New York City will soon stop at platform five!"

"_Finalmente!_" Silva both shouted and exhaled.

Silva looked around, trying to figure the direction in which he should go.

"Let's see…" she heard him muttering. "…this is platform three, so platform five should be that way. It's not far."

Silva lowered, grabbed his suitcase, and said, "Well, I hope you forgive me, but my train is almost arriving, and I've been waiting here for more than three hours, I don't want to lose it."

He again stretched out his arm toward Jack, and the two shook hands.

"A happy birthday, Mr. Driscoll, and a Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Silva."

Then, Silva turned to Rachel. For a moment, he seemed confused about whether to shake her hand or not, but eventually he did it. Rachel returned the gesture.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Kaufmann, and goodbye. It was a pleasure meeting you." Silva said.

For once, Rachel found herself slightly tongue-tied. Saying 'Merry Christmas' when she knew what expected Silva didn't sound very proper. But eventually, she managed, "Merry Christmas, Silva, and good luck."

Silva made a look that seemed to say "I'll need it."

The two let go of each other's hand, and, after tipping his hat to both of them, Silva turned his back and moved toward platform five. Going rather against her standards, Rachel watched him go for a moment, until Jack said, "Rachel, we have to get in our train as well."

"Oh, right." Rachel nodded.

She picked up her suitcase and her camera bag, and the two entered the same train Jack had gotten out of.

Jack lead her to two unoccupied seats, and the two siblings sank down on them, their suitcases on their laps, and Rachel with her camera bag tucked between her feet.

The burden of the bags on her legs made Rachel think about Silva. Apparently, the man had a fair share of permanent burdens in his life. And not only he seemed to have trouble at handling all of them by himself, but it appeared he was on his own. That made Rachel feel some pity toward the Portuguese. Silva had been polite to her, which was already something. Most people almost freaked out when they met her, but, even considering she had not displayed her normal personality in full, Silva had handled her surprisingly fine.

She remembered the grin Jack had been about to display, as if he thought Silva was new boyfriend. Rachel knew for sure he wasn't meant for her, nor she was meant for him. He had been nice to her, and that was more than most men were. He had some similarities to her in the way both of them had problems with their families. But he wouldn't be able to keep up with her. That was just fine, though, because Rachel had not ever wanted him to fill in that place, and it had been obvious to her he also hadn't wanted her to fill the correspondent place in his.

The train lurched, and shortly after it started moving. Having sat at the window, Rachel saw the train on platform five, which was also moving. Although it was somewhat far, she recognized Silva's figure, already inside the train. He seemed to be again absorbed in his book, as if he tried to forget what waited for him in New York with his family.

Rachel thought about her own family. She didn't regret the choice she had made when she had decided what she wanted her life to be, but she would have preferred if her family had taken it more lightly. After all, she had been rather precocious at saying what her ideal role for a woman to have. Her family should have just understood from the start.

_Well, that is past. _Rachel thought. _It doesn't change the future. Who knows, perhaps someday my family will just accept what I am. But even so, I don't let their thoughts determine what I am. I should have taken the time to teach Silva how to care less for his sister's thoughts._

But she hadn't. And now it was too late. Still, who knew, perhaps Silva would figure out on his own.

Everyone had problems. Life wasn't perfect. But Rachel knew problems couldn't be evaded. They could only be faced.

Perhaps someday she'd meet Silva again, and by then his life would be brighter. Rachel hoped so. He deserved that much.

On that instant, the train Silva was in disappeared from sight, and Rachel put all her thoughts about him in the corner of her mind. Now her biggest concern was Jack. She had to hear his apologies, hear what he had been doing recently, fill him in on her trip to Norway, and give him a taste of the kind of pictures he would see when she developed them.

If properly developed, that would be quite a lot to fit in their train voyage. But, like with a good number of things in her life, Rachel wanted to make the best of it.

* * *

_Well, this was it, the end of my attempt at writing a fanfic about another of Rebecca Ann's characters. I seriously doubted I succeeded half as well as I did with Maureen, and Maureen was already a complex character. I can't even stand to think how out-of-character Rachel can stay... but I decided to give it a try anyway. When Rebecca Ann reads this fanfic, she will make her justice upon me - whatever it is her justice. _

_I hope you readers enjoyed this... but you will be my judges._

_Now, there's only one last thing left for me to say, but it's by no means the least important one: Merry Christmas!_


End file.
